Lessons My Cats Taught Me

Confessions of a cat lady

Willow

I was five or six years old, reading a book as the babysitter similarly idled away the time. When my parents came home, they were bearing mischievous smiles and a large cardboard box. I peered over with interest as they set the box on the dining table and lifted out a small, grey kitten. I was too stunned to let out more than a rather stupid “What’s that?”

Willow, so named because my favorite book at the time was The Wind in the Willows, lived up to his name. He was kind and gentle, a loving lapcat who enjoyed nothing better than to soak up the sun and snuggle with us on his favorite chair.

Unfortunately, I was not the best housemate. I played too roughly with him and yelled when he carried away my stuffed animals. And yet Willow never stopped being loving and affectionate. We grew up together and I eventually treated him with more respect. I always expected him to be there.

Willow developed kidney disease, and we gave him saline treatments every day for months until he passed away. Those sessions were horrible, as he struggled and meowed in pain whenever we tried to place the IV. Otherwise, though, he was his usual self. Actually, he was more affectionate than usual, which we eventually realized was his way of saying goodbye.